A Dying Wish
by Damaia
Summary: NOT a Mary-Sue! Ok, so maybe it's about Kim's granddaughter and Edward, but hey, she's way cool, so please R and R- You'll love it, I promise.
1. Alexis

Alexis stared blankly down at the coffin, her mind whirling in sharp contrast to the perfectly composed expression on her pale face.  
  
Memories of her grandmother flashed before her eyes in a mental collage of sound and images.  
  
Grandma Kim, laughing as she played paper dolls with a small, brown- haired girl- 'Was I ever that small?' Alexis wondered vaguely.  
  
An old book of photographs from her grandmother's high school years. She had been a cheer leader... Gone to prom with the most handsome, popular boy in the class, Jim... A boy who had died only months later.  
  
Oh, yes, Alexis knew the story well. It had been her favorite tale as a child. 'Edward,' she murmured, a half-smile flitting across her full lips. Then her expression soured as her grandfather took her arm and led her aside, away from her grandmother's coffin.  
  
"Grandfather," she acknowledged. Her least favorite relative, he was a rather short, weaselish man with small, watery blue eyes and a hunched stature. Hair that had once been blond and thick was now thin, white fuzz on his wrinkled head. He leered short-sightedly up at her.  
  
"Granddaughter," he croaked, his expression mocking, "How kind of you to grace the occasion with your presence. At least now your garb is somewhat appropriate to the occasion."  
  
Alexis glanced down at herself, her vivid green eyes taking in the unrelieved black of her leather clothing; tank top, jacket, pants, and over- the-knee boots (very cool if a touch impractical, fastening with a dozen buckles each).  
  
"However," he continued maliciously, now sneering at her, "You might try a different color of powder on your face, and different eye-shadow and lipstick as well. You look more like a corpse than your grandmother."  
  
Alexis crossed her arms over her chest, making the leather of her jacket creak, and glared out of heavily shadowed, black-lined eyes at the old man. She shook her newly dyed black hair out of her eyes and snapped, "Listen, you old creep. If I pretend I value your opinion on my looks and/or my ethics will you either A) get to the point or B) go bother someone else?"  
  
"Charming as always, my dearest," he said sarcastically, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a yellowing envelope. "Your grandmother asked that you be given this in the event of her death, and, as I hope you've noticed, she is dead, so here it is."  
  
Alexis accepted the envelope from his age-gnarled hands. It was addressed to her in her grandmother's elegant handwriting. "What is it?" she inquired coolly, toying with the studded collar she wore.  
  
"How should I know?" he demanded, his voice rising squeakily in outrage at her tone. "She told me nothing, and then had the bad taste to die before her will was finalized!"  
  
"Relax," Alexis advised coldly. "You'll get your money, the whole lot of it, I shouldn't wonder."  
  
He muttered something uncomplimentary and shuffled away, seeking a new victim.  
  
*  
  
Outside the funeral home, one long, leather-clad leg thrown casually over the saddle of her motorcycle, Alexis read her grandmother's letter.  
  
My dearest granddaughter,  
  
If you are reading this, it means that I am no longer with you. I am sorry for that, but know that I will always be thinking of you, and keeping an eye on you!  
  
Do you remember that night, many years ago, when it snowed so hard that school was cancelled for two days? Do you remember the story I told you that first night? Of course you do. You never forget anything, the little girl with a mind like a steel trap. Well, I suppose I must get to the point sooner or later; I may as well make it sooner.  
  
You see, I wish to ask for a favor, a dying woman's last request. Please, go back home to Suburbia. I know that you hate the sight of it, but, please do this, for me. I ask you to take the necklace you will find inside this envelope to Edward, if he is still alive.  
  
Also enclosed in this envelope is the deed to the house and grounds where he lives (if indeed, as I suspect, he still does). Don't ask how I got it, please. Suffice it to say I pulled a few strings, talked to a few "friends" at city hall, and used a good fraction of the money that would otherwise have gone to your grandfather. If you wish to tell him where it went, do so, if not, that is fine with me as well.  
  
Please give these things to Edward, as well as my regards.  
  
Remember that I love you always, no matter what. Thank you, my darling.  
  
Grandma Kim  
  
*  
  
The streetlights shrank to orangey dots far below as Alexis rode her motorcycle up the winding path to the house at the top of the mountain.  
  
The headlight on her motorcycle made a cone of whiteness in the mist that surrounded the house, muffling all noise. Almost reluctantly, she shut off the engine, killing the light, and pulled off her helmet, shaking out her long ebony hair. She pulled off her gloves and threw them carelessly into the helmet, leaving it on the seat of the motorcycle. Holding her grandmother's envelope firmly in her left hand, she pushed open the rusty iron gate and entered the grounds of the old house.  
  
The only noise was the crunch of gravel under her feet, but she felt unnervingly like she was being watched. Still, she squared her shoulders, strode boldly up the weather-beaten front steps, and rapped loudly on the front door.  
  
There was no answer, but then, she really hadn't been expecting one.  
  
Pushing the door open, she strode boldly inside, her footsteps echoing like gunshots in the dark expanse of the gloomy room inside. The door closed of its own accord behind her.  
  
Giving herself a firm telling off for even thinking of chickening out at that stage of the game, she strode purposefully across the hall to the staircase, eyeing the odd statue off to her right as she climbed the stairs.. It looked vaguely like the Balrog from Lord of the Rings, only smaller, and minus the wings. She argued with herself silently.  
  
'What if he's dead?' said a small voice in the back of her mind. 'I... I don't want to be the one to find him if he is. Call me a coward, say what you will, but I don't.'  
  
'If he's dead,' said an answering voice, slyly, 'Then who did you sense watching you outside? His ghost?'  
  
A third voice silenced the first two, saying firmly, 'Grandma Kim said he was likely still alive, and that should be good enough for me.'  
  
She reached a landing where a passage branched off, and paused to think. What had her grandmother said? 'Keep going, all the way to the top- to the attic.' She pressed on up the next flight of stairs.  
  
The narrow stairwell opened out into a broad expanse of wooden floor, the boards, rough and unfinished, creaked under Alexis' feet as she took three steps into the room and halted, looking around.  
  
Here was the room her grandmother had described in such loving detail. The roof overhead was partially collapsed, and she could see a few stars through the opening. On her right, set into the wall, was a large fireplace; empty, its walls covered in magazine and newspaper clippings, some old, some newer.  
  
She could see very little outside of a ten foot radius from where she stood, because of the deep shadows cast by the remains of the roof. It didn't matter, though. Her grandmother's stories told her what to look (and listen) for.  
  
A quiet clicking noise in a far corner off to her left brought her head around sharply. She narrowed her eyes and peered into the gloom. The glint of metal caught her eye almost immediately.  
  
Working up her courage, she called softly, "Edward?"  
  
A shuffling noise and the sound of footsteps growing nearer met her ears. Someone stopped just outside her ten foot circle of sight, their face and form hidden in the darkness.  
  
A soft, boyish voice said, "Who is there?" His tone betrayed no hostility, only innocent curiosity.  
  
"Edward?" she said again.  
  
He stepped forward into the light. The years, it seemed, had had no effect on him, for his scarred face was unlined by time, and his body was still slender and youthful. His nearly black eyes regarded her warily as he asked, "Who are you?"  
  
"I am Alexis- Alex, if you like," she answered, suddenly struck by the grim fact that she had no idea what to say to him.  
  
He took a few tentative steps nearer. His movement was stiff and deliberate. His hands- if you could call them hands- were raised defensively, as though he thought she might suddenly attack him. Startled, she realized that for all he could kill her without half-trying, he was afraid of her.  
  
She smiled encouragingly, keeping her own hands open at her sides.  
  
He stopped again, some five feet away from her now. He said nothing, but simply gazed at her out of black, fathomless eyes. His eyes went from her black leather garb to the studded collar at her throat to her unkempt black mane of hair to her pale face, made nearly white with makeup.  
  
At last he said, in a quiet, contemplative voice, "You look like me." 


	2. Weirdly Beautiful

Her smile widened as she answered, "I suppose I do, a bit."  
  
His next question caught her rather off-guard. "Why?"  
  
She blinked, her smile fading, and did not answer immediately. He seemed to take this as a refusal to answer, and said with genuine concern, "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry."  
  
She gave herself a mental shake, and assured him, "No, you said nothing wrong. I guess I just don't know what the answer is. I just... like to dress like this, I guess."  
  
He seemed to consider this, and they stood for a time in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.  
  
Alexis cleared her throat, and blurted out, "Kim told me to come see you."  
  
His face lit up. "She did? Is she coming to see me?"  
  
She dropped her gaze to the floor, biting her lip, and said, "I'm sorry, Edward. She's dead."  
  
His face fell, and he took another step toward her. "How? When?"  
  
Still not looking at him, she replied in a slightly shaky voice, "A week ago. She was old, Edward, very old, and... She went to sleep, and just... didn't wake up."  
  
"You were her friend?"  
  
Alexis looked up through a curtain of black hair. "I'm her granddaughter."  
  
He reached toward her with his right hand, bringing his index "finger" to rest an inch from her right eye. Against her better judgment, she didn't back away. He carefully drew her black hair away from her eyes, and gazed intently into her face. At last he said, "She sent you to see me." It was not a question.  
  
Alexis swallowed hard, one eye on the foot-long, razor sharp steel blade hovering dangerously close to her face, but pulled out the envelope, opened it, and took out the necklace. "She wanted you to have this."  
  
The necklace glittered in the starlight as she held it out to him, the small gold heart shining against her slender, white fingers. The faintest of sad smiles brushed his bruise-colored lips, and he said, "Would you help me put it on, please?"  
  
"Of... of course." Careful of his hands, she reached around the back of his neck and fastened the tiny gold clasp, holding the envelope in her teeth.  
  
"Thank you," he said, close to her ear. She hastily backed away, pulling out the deed to the house.  
  
"She also said to give you this- it's the deed to the house and grounds."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Umm...," she trailed off.  
  
"It should be kept in the library," he said. "This way."  
  
*  
  
For the house of an inventor, the library/study was relatively small, but still managed to hold an impressive amount of clutter, mostly of the paperwork-books-and-random-printed-items variety. The amount of dust kicked up as they walked made Alexis indulge in a prolonged bout of sneezing.  
  
Edward shuffled over to a desk (or what Alexis assumed was a desk; it was so cluttered it was hard to tell).  
  
He tapped a drawer with his scissorhands. "This was where he kept things- the Important Things." Alexis could hear the capitol letters as he said it.  
  
Alexis pulled the drawer open, releasing yet another cloud of thick white dust. Inside were a variety of yellowing envelopes and a black-bound notebook.  
  
She slid the deed into the drawer and, on impulse, grabbed the notebook. She glanced sidelong at Edward, but he simply looked at her with mild, dark eyes, so she opened it to a random page and started reading. It was written in a thin, spidery hand, which read:  
  
"-creation of an artificial man. I have researched for many years on this subject, and now I believe it is time to put theory into practice. My hope is to create something that not only has the appearance of a human being, but also the mind and, more importantly, the heart of one. I wish to create a kind soul with the capacity to truly love others."  
  
She flipped through the rest of the pages, which seemed to consist primarily of complicated notes and an occasional conceptual sketch. Some of them were quite bizarre. The very last page was a pencil sketch of Edward, accurate to the last detail, save only that the face in the picture was smooth and unscarred.  
  
Alexis glanced up at the real Edward. He was still patiently watching her, motionless as a statue of alabaster and ebony, except for the small, metallic clicks of his 'fingers'.  
  
She frowned and turned back a few pages. Here was the design for his heart, for his brain, for his spinal cord, but here... the old man's detailed notes on how to make his hands. She skimmed a few of the pages. Difficult, very difficult. The sheer number of complicated joints and connections that would give a full range of motion and a sense of touch made her shake her head in wonder.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"Your... father's notes," she replied distractedly, still reading. "It tells how he created you."  
  
"Does it say how to finish me?"  
  
"Yes," she said doubtfully, "But it's incredibly complicated. I mean, just look at this." She showed him a diagram of the steel "bones" that would make up his hands.  
  
"Could you finish me?"  
  
She closed the notebook with a snap, a refusal on her lips, and stopped short at the look on his face. For just a moment, she saw the world through his eyes. He was all alone, endless days and nights spent bereft of companionship or purpose, no friends, no family, no one to love or even to talk to. She shivered. "I can try."  
  
*A month later...  
  
"Why did I ever agree to this?" Alexis demanded of herself through gritted teeth, irritably crossing out what she had written.  
  
She had been living at the mansion for a month now, having evicted a large extended family of rats from the study and made it into her own temporary quarters. Edward had insisted she come live in the mansion for the summer, and in the end, she had agreed. 'So here I am,' she thought grimly, 'Merrily sending myself mad trying to do the impossible.'  
  
'Improbable,' she corrected, arguing with herself as she so often did. 'Merely improbable. Edward shouldn't exist, but he does, and he's as human as I am. So logically it would follow that this can be done. After all, if the Inventor can make people, I can make hands.'  
  
'As human as I am?' another part of her mind demanded crossly as she slammed a heavy book shut. 'Emotionally and mentally, maybe, but I played enough Dungeons & Dragons as a kid to know a construct when I see one.'  
  
'This isn't helping,' she told herself sternly. 'C'mon, you've nearly got it. Just a little more research and you'll be able to help Edward. Just open that next book, the answers you need are probably in there."  
  
'Not to mention a good deal more about Edward's physiology than I really wanted to know,' she said to herself with grim good humor. 'At least I'll ace my human anatomy class next year, no doubt about that.'  
  
She impatiently read a paragraph about the need for living things to have water, and how Edward was an exception to the rules. "At least that explains the state of the plumbing around here," she said aloud, rolling her eyes at the thought.  
  
As the mansion had gone unheated since the Inventor died, most of the pipes had frozen and burst in the winter. One tap in the basement still worked, but the water was undrinkable, both because it tasted terrible and was the rich color of apple cider, and because it was carried to the house in genuine, old-fashioned lead pipes. A good deal of her not-for-use-at- school vocabulary did come to mind. She hated having to go to Suburbia to buy food, water, and other necessities.  
  
She heard the quiet tap of metal on the wooden door and sprang up to open it, nearly knocking over her rickety wooden chair. Edward walked in, stepping cautiously over the piles of books and papers that littered the floor. "How are you doing?" he inquired.  
  
"Could be worse," she said diplomatically. "Come see what I've been working on."  
  
When he did not move after a short pause, she took him by the arm (carefully) and led him over to the desk where half a dozen papers lay spread out on its scratched surface. She pointed to each of them in turn, explaining, "This is the sketch for the bone structure- see how he labeled each one? He devoted twenty pages of writing to those! Very detailed and thorough, lucky for us. Here's a paper on the stuff he used for your skin. Quite the recipe. And this one is about your circulatory system, such as it is. I'm afraid I don't fully understand why he wanted you to bleed like a person would, but I understand the general theory- he wanted you to be as human as possible, I guess. And this-" she concluded, holding up a sheaf of yellowing papers- "is what's giving me trouble. This is what he wrote on your nervous system."  
  
"What trouble?" he asked quietly, concerned.  
  
"It's just odd, is all," she assured him. "It's difficult to set things up so you feel things in your hands the way people do. Things like heat and cold, or pain."  
  
"I know what pain is," he said softly, "Kim's boyfriend hit me with something when we fought, across my shoulders. It hurt."  
  
"I'm sorry if I sound patronizing," she said, afraid she had offended him.  
  
"You don't. You are only trying to help me," he said simply.  
  
"We'll get there," she said, sounding as confident as she could. "It won't be long now."  
  
He nodded, then did something she saw all too rarely. He smiled. Despite his scars, he was weirdly beautiful. 


End file.
